


(i'll be right) beside you

by ViolaWay



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (If I do say so myself), Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Fluff, Golden Age Hollywood, Humor, M/M, Smut, boys being silly and in love, harry is an up and coming actor, i cannot write angst to save my life, it's everything except angst basically, louis is a director
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>golden age of hollywood au ft. harry being a little shit, louis trying to make movies and eleanor despairing in everyone</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i'll be right) beside you

“I loved your latest movie, Mr Styles. Very daring. Can I buy you a drink?”

“I won’t be bought that easy, Tomlinson. You’ll have to work harder if you want me to be your new leading man.” Harry had a nice smile – good for cameras. It slanted upwards at a jaunty angle, merest hint of glossy white teeth exposed. It was a smile you found yourself responding to in kind, lips twitching upwards without a thought.

“I’d very much like to catch that smile on film,” Louis said, leading his new acquaintance to the bar. “What will you be having?”

“Champagne, if you’re buying.”

“Certainly.” Louis turned to the bartender and ordered their drinks, leaning back against the mahogany surface as they waited for the man to pour the obscenely expensive liquid into two glasses. “So if you’ve no desire to star in one of my movies, what are you doing here on my opening night?”

“I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the lovely Miss Calder, actually,” Harry smirked. “I’d love to work opposite her sometime.”

“I’m afraid she’s bound to me by contract,” Louis said. “As are you – to Mr Payne, if I’m correct. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who likes to share, especially not a star as bright as you.”

“I wouldn’t call him the generous type, no.” Harry took a sip of his champagne. “He’s…protective, of his assets, but I imagine he could be persuaded to allow you to direct for MGM. I know that he loves your work. A collaborative project could turn you into a worldwide phenomenon.”

Louis snorted. “I wouldn’t pander to the big studios for all the money in the world, and you know that. I’m filthy rich and only getting richer, so losing the chance to direct a pretty face like yours isn’t going to persuade me to lose any sleep. I make damn good films without Liam Payne’s help, and I intend to keep on doing so.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

“When I began production on my first film, Mr Payne and the other top film executives sniggered about me behind my back. Don’t think I don’t know that. They thought I was an idiotic boy with too much money and not enough restraint. And then it turned out that my movie was the best thing many of ‘em had seen in their goddamn lives, and suddenly they want to make me part of their little insiders club. But I’m not willing to forget what they thought of me. Never.”

“You slip back into your real accent when you get angry, you know that?” Harry responded, tilting his head. “You’re faking it when you try to sound American. I know a good fake when I see one, Mr Tomlinson. And you _are_ a good fake, just not good enough to fool me. You sound like a character in one of your films.”

“I’ve lived here for eight years.”

“And I have for three. But my accent’s better than yours,” Harry said, smug. “I’d have to name myself the better actor.”

“Are you always acting, then?”

“I’d say so, yes. There’s no way of getting by in our golden world if you tell the truth. We’re all rotten liars, every single one of us. I think you lie more than most, Louis. I think you’re insecure. More insecure than you’d ever let anyone know. And I’m sure you’d like everyone to _think_ that you’ve bedded Miss Calder, or any of the other actresses clinging to you at these events, but that’s not the case – is it?”

“Very perceptive, Mr Styles – or are we on a first name basis now? Truth be told, I can’t get half so good a read on you as you’ve managed on me. You’ve got a very enigmatic face, Harry. Maybe that’s why you’re so good at your craft. If I were to say anything, it would be that you’re awfully self-assured, for one so young. I suppose anyone would be, with the papers reporting on your every move and big-name directors wooing you with expensive drinks.”

“Are you wooing me, Louis?” Harry asked. His innocence was deceptive, as was everything about him. “But you’re wrong about me. Nice try, though; I can see why you’d think that.”

“And why should I trust a word you say?”

The room was hazy with smoke and a buzz of chatter, words overly enunciated and lipstick lips caressing glasses of chardonnay and martinis. It was perhaps the one place in the world where Louis’ fame meant nothing at all – when he leaned in close to his companion, no one so much as glanced at them. Harry’s hand brushed his, a fleeting caress against his fingers.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” he whispered.

“I’d like to get to know you.”

“I’m sure you would. The question is whether you want to know my mind or…something else,” Harry said, his smirk existing as much in his tone as it did on his mouth.

“I’m speaking about your mind, of course,” Louis lied. Harry’s laugh told him all he needed to know about his ability to fool him. There was an element of truth to the words, though; Harry genuinely interested him in a way few other people did. Most Hollywood types were hopelessly boring and vain. Harry may be vain (Louis hadn’t decided) but he was anything but boring. There was no questioning his unique ability to manipulate – with his green doe eyes and youthful appearance, one might consider him naïve if they observed him from a distance. Louis was sure he knew how to play any number of casting directors with that boyish charm; with only a couple of years of acting experience under his belt, he was already the romantic lead in some of the biggest movies for MGM. He was their shining star, their glittering golden trophy. He was the only thing MGM had that Louis didn’t.

“I bet you’re just dying to tell me what to do,” Harry laughed lowly, “on camera. Most of my directors say I’m very easy to control.”

“Most?”

“Oh, there are always those who think I’m too forward about what I want.”

“Do you sleep with all your directors?” Louis asked, curiosity surmounting the desire to continue with innuendo.

“What kind of girl do you take me for?” Harry smiled. “I only sleep with the ones who ask me to.”

“How many ask you to?”

“More than you’d think. I think it’s the mouth. They all claim to love their wives, but it’s hard to resist a mouth like mine,” he said, licking his lips. “Or maybe it’s that I’m good with my hands.”

Louis felt a hand on his waist before he could respond. “Louis, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Eleanor said pointedly. “Mr Cowell’s been looking everywhere for you – he wants to congratulate you.”

“Miss Calder,” Harry interrupted, “the silver screen hardly does you justice. It’s such as pleasure to finally meet you.” He stepped forward to kiss her hand, and she smiled thinly at him. “I was just telling Mr Tomlinson here that you’re the reason I came along. I’ve been dying to work with you ever since I saw you in ‘Ready to Run’, but Louis says he simply refuses to let you go.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Eleanor said. “Besides, I imagine I get paid twice as much by Mr Tomlinson as your studio would ever dream of offering a girl like me.”

“It’s simply a fantasy,” Harry replied. “Excuse me.”

He melted back into the crowd as Eleanor delivered a hard smack to Louis’ hip, low enough that no one could see.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from him,” she hissed. “Harry Styles is the worst person you can possibly get involved with. Worse than Zayn. This time, I really mean it. Not that that stopped you before.”

“Zayn was so worth it.”

“He was, until he ran off with the singer and you said you’d never make another movie again. Harry will be the same, except worse, because he’s a manipulative son of a bitch and he’ll probably extort you for all you’re worth if you let him suck your dick. Excuse the language.” She sighed. “For once in your life, will you please just listen to me?”

“Of course I won’t,” Louis replied. “If I seduce him away from Payne, people will see – ”

“Will see what? That you’re better than them? Everyone already knows that; they can see it in your films. Besides, it’s just as likely Styles will seduce you. I’ve heard he’s good at that.”

“He is,” Louis said. “I’m better.”

“You’re a horrible liar. Harry Styles has slept his way to the top, there’s no getting around that, and he’ll use you for whatever ends suit him best – and you’ll go along with it because you love pretty boys,” Eleanor said, blunt as ever.

“It’s unlikely I’ll ever see him again,” Louis shrugged. “But if I do, I’ll sure as hell let him suck my dick.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes and gave up.

Her dress was one of the finer ones she’d worn all season – a glittering silver, skin-tight number offset by Louis’ grey bowtie. They made a striking couple, and Louis tried not to think about how easily Harry had seen through their guise. He kept a steady hand on Eleanor’s arm and waist as they circled the room, accepting praise and propositions in equal measures. So many aspiring screenwriters offering to send him a script…it was pathetic, but it was the way it worked at these parties. Everyone looking for a way to advance themselves by latching on to the most promising hotshot. It was why Harry was surrounded by giggling girls who wanted to be his next leading lady. Louis noticed how Harry kept looking over in his direction, though, and that was enough to prevent him from doing something rash.

He and Eleanor left the party at past midnight. They went to their separate homes, and Louis fell asleep thinking about how to beat Harry Styles at his own game.

*

“Your date didn’t seem to like me,” Harry said. “And I was so hoping she would.”

“Everybody wants to steal my girl,” Louis replied, sipping at the tea he’d been given by one of Harry’s employees.

“Don’t quote your own movies.”

“Why shouldn’t I? They’re my films, I can do what I like with them.” Louis smiled. “Surely you didn’t invite me here to discuss my date, Harry.”

“What would you like me to talk about?”

“How about your next movie? I heard that you’re to be acting alongside Miss Swift, how impressive.”

“We finished filming last month, actually. She’s an amazing actress,” Harry said. “And one of the greatest beauties of our generation. I’m surprised you haven’t tried to snatch her up yet. Or are you and Miss Eleanor too attached?”

“I tend to prefer brunettes,” Louis smiled easily.

Harry’s laugh was surprisingly genuine – or a least it seemed so. It wasn’t a pretty laugh, and his hands flew to cover his mouth as the guffaw escaped. He was more relaxed here, in his own home. The sitting room was furnished as ornately as Louis would have expected from someone who had recently acquired large volumes of money. It was tacky, yes, but more endearing than Harry’s suave appearance and mannerisms. This was a boy who hadn’t been born into wealth – unlike most of the people Louis rubbed shoulders with. It was a welcome change.

“Your latest film was a vision, Louis. But it took two years to complete and there’s no chance of it making back its money. Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Anything you try to tell me about my finances, my accountant’s said a hundred times this week. He despairs in my spending – but the truth is, if this movie doesn’t make enough money, the next one will, or I’ll simply invest in an airplane company, or I’ll continue funding films with the endless supply of cash streaming from my bank account,” Louis said. “I inherited rather a lot, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I’m not scared by much, to tell you the truth. I don’t have time to be.”

“Everyone’s scared of something,” Harry said.

“If that’s the case, what are you scared of?”

“My own mortality. Liam talks like my films will make me live forever, but one day all the films will fade and the canisters will be destroyed and no one alive will remember my name at all.” Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. “That’s why I try to have as much fun as a I possibly can while I’m still alive. It’s got to be less about ‘making a name for myself’ and more about the parties, and the good liquor, and the attractive people.”

“I’m sure people will remember you after you die. Not for as long as you want, but it’s still closer to immortality than most people get.”

“I don’t feel immortal when I’m in a film,” Harry responded. “I feel alive when I’m on the right side of tipsy, and when I’m dancing with a beautiful woman in the middle of a crowded dance floor, and when I’m kissing someone and time stands still. Those are the moments I live for. What about you?”

“I love my films. I love when a shot plays out the way I saw it in my head, and when someone comes up to me and tells me I shocked them, or angered them, or made them cry. I don’t need anything else – just that. I don’t like the parties half so much as everyone else seems to, although I’m certainly not averse to all the drinking and kissing. I could live without them, though, as long as I could make movies.”

“How noble of you.”

“Why did you invite me here?”

“Just because we’re enemies doesn’t mean we can’t be friends,” Harry said.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You know what I mean. It’s you and Liam who’re fighting. I just happen to be on the wrong side. But that’s not my fault, you see. You never offered me a job when I was a poor immigrant without a penny to my name. He did.”

“So I’ve heard. Truly inspiring success story – how on earth did he find you?” Louis asked, arching an eyebrow. “Forgive the curiosity, it’s just that most stars aren’t simply found on the street. No matter what they say about the American Dream, it’s hard for someone like you to come out of nowhere.”

“Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” If Louis wasn’t aware of how keen Harry was to manipulate him, he would have thought his expression appeared distressed.

“I won’t pry.”

“Good. I only like to tell happy stories – but if you’re willing to share what made you want to make movies, I’d be happy to hear it. I was under the impression that your parents were oil tycoons.”

“Close enough. I never wanted that for myself – you see, from the moment I picked up a camera I knew that there was more beauty in the world than money. That’s why I’m so willing to spend my fortune on making movies that can’t hope to win back a profit. I don’t do this to get – or stay – rich. I know that’s easy for me to say, since I’ve never been destitute, but it’s true. I’m not as interested in money as I am in my ability to create something wonderful.”

“That sounds…honest,” Harry said, sounding uncertain.

“It’s the truth,” Louis replied. “If I wanted to lie to you, Harry, I wouldn’t have come here. There’s no point in having a conversation if it’s all double meanings and lies.”

“Are you sure you work in Hollywood?” Harry laughed. “Of course it all has to be double meanings and lies. That’s the way it works.”

“Do you never tell the truth, then?”

“Rarely.”

“Hm. Would you like to work with me?”

“I told you, I’m – ”

“That’s not what I asked,” Louis said patiently. “I asked if you wanted to work with me, not if you _can_.”

“I’m fascinated by you and your work.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m not inclined to give one at the present moment. Maybe I just haven’t come to a decision yet,” Harry said.

Louis reclined slightly on the plush red sofa, reaching out a hand to brush over the velvet as he considered his response. Harry, seated on the armchair, remained straight-backed. He was the kind of person who seemed constantly alert – ready for anything to be thrown at them. Louis was the same kind of person; he just hid it better. Then again – he’d been brought up in the business world, conditioned on the best way to manipulate. Harry had no such luxury.

“Okay, easier question: do you want to have sex with me?”

Harry licked his lips, eyes shining wickedly. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. “I think I would like that very much.”

“Too bad,” Louis smiled. “I want you in my films more than I want to fuck you.”

“I fail to see how the two are mutually exclusive.”

“They aren’t,” Louis said. “But all the same. I’ll show myself out.”

*

He’d already known, of course, that Harry’s goal was seduction – but it was nice to have it confirmed. And it was nice to know that Harry wantedit, that it wasn’t just a means to an end. Or at least, Louis thought so. Harry was a hard man to get a read on, but Louis was fairly sure he believed him, most of the time.

He was already back on set, another idea for this year’s blockbuster settling in his mind. The film would look better with Harry in the lead – but any film would, and Aiden was a good enough substitute that he barely thought about the loss of his star. Where Harry had raw, organic charm, Aiden had experience in the industry, and knew how to work the camera to its best advantage. He simply glowed opposite Eleanor, and the two exuded so much chemistry that Louis knew he needed to pair them up in another one after this.

Echoing his thoughts, a gruff voice said, “They’re a stunning partnership.”

“Who let you in here?” Louis asked.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know his name. He responded well to a smile and a wink – do all of your guards do that?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Louis said. “I should have you thrown out. Can’t have you stealing all my secrets and selling them to Mr Payne. I imagine he’d offer quite a bit to anyone willing to do that.”

“I’ll look into it. But I’m actually here for pleasure, not business.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much pleasurable about sitting on the side-lines while a movie’s being made,” Louis commented.

“But when there are such wonderful things to look at…” Harry said, eyes roving over Louis’ form. This wasn’t one of the days when Louis had spent hours styling his hair or obsessing over his choice of clothing; it was his film set, and he could wear what he liked. He was slouched in his director’s chair, shirt carelessly buttoned nearly to the top, and Harry was looking at him – not even in a predatory way, but like he was _beautiful_. It was overwhelming. Louis ignored it entirely.

“You can stay if you want, I suppose. And if no one’s stopping you, I guess you’ll drop by any time. Maybe you’ll realise while you’re here that you’re mad not to have signed over to my company while you still had the chance.”

“Oh, is the offer not still open?” Harry asked.

“Why would you want to know if you’re not interested in working for me,” Louis said, arching an eyebrow. “I’ll decide whether it’s still open when the time comes.”

“That sounds awfully ambiguous.”

“Ambiguous, yes. Awful, not so much. It’s always good to be kept in suspense.” Louis winked, and Harry tittered away to himself as if it was the funniest thing he’d seen or heard all day. Louis tried to shut down the fondness that gave rise to, and focused on watching Eleanor and Aiden run through their lines.

“You’re a tease,” Eleanor was saying, figure elegant in a clinging silk dress. “A rotten tease, and I should hate you for it.” Her American drawl was almost perfected by now, just enough of a twang on the syllables that she was believable as a New York socialite.

“I’m not teasing you,” Aiden replied. “I meant what I said – I want you to marry me. In front of the eyes of, of god and everyone.”

“Well, do you love me?”

“You know I can’t answer that. I’ve got half a mind to just walk away right now if you’re gonna be like that. You know I can’t stand it,” Aiden responded.

“If you don’t love me then what’s the point?” Eleanor demanded. “I don’t want to be a trophy wife – I want to feel love, real love, and if you can’t offer me that then I’m afraid I’ll have to say goodbye.”

Interjecting quietly, Harry asked, “Who scripted this?”

“It’s a joint effort,” Louis said. “Myself and Eleanor. Why, do you think it’s terrible? I doubt you could do better.”

Harry ignored the question. “Is Eleanor’s name going to be featured in the credits?”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d be a laughing stock, that’s why. No one will take a film seriously if it’s written by a woman – just like they wouldn’t accept female playwrights and authors before. I think Eleanor’s an amazing writer – she’s better than any man I’ve known, and she has this insight into character that I can’t hope to understand. But the cinemagoers won’t see that. They’ll only see her gender, which is as stupid as it is unfair. Until the day when people stop seeing women as inferior artists – writers and painters and poets and directors – I want to keep her from facing all the crap they’ll give her.”

“You don’t believe that women are inferior directors, or screenwriters, then?”

“I’d be an idiot to believe that when the woman who raised me taught me better. Art isn’t about gender segregation, it’s about the human condition, and anyone can capture that if they try hard enough.”

“Do you think people will ever see it the way you do?” Harry asked. “And don’t you think that Eleanor deserves to be given credit, regardless of what they’ll say? It’s a bit cowardly of you to – ”

“That’s bullshit. It’d kill her if she got bad reviews for this. She’s been working on the idea for years, and even though I rewrote it for screen, it’s essentially hers. If there’s any chance of me letting her get the reviews she deserves, I’ll do it,” Louis said. “Whether people will ever see it my way…I don’t know. God, I hope so. If there’s a day when there’s a woman who’s seen as a better writer than Shakespeare, or Dickens or anyone, that’s when I’ll know that we’ve stopped diminishing women’s art.”

“You’re good at surprising me, Louis.”

“Why, were you expecting a chauvinist pig?”

“No, I was expecting you to be like any of the dozens of directors I’ve worked for,” Harry said. “I’ve seen how they treat my co-stars, and I know how they treat me. There’s a difference.”

“Still, in an unusual turn of events, you’re the one they end up sleeping with.”

“Can you concentrate on something other than my sex life for five minutes?” Harry’s smirk was too self-satisfied for Louis’ liking, but he let it slide.

“It’s not my fault you have a very interesting one, Styles,” Louis replied.

“Not so much. I simply do what I like. I don’t understand why someone like you would lose any sleep over that.”

“I’m not losing any sleep,” Louis protested, too quickly.

“Please. All directors are like you – all possessive and obsessed with my virtue. They don’t like sharing, you said it yourself,” Harry smiled.

“It’s not my place to get jealous about what you do in your free time.”

“I don’t care if it’s not your place – are you?” And – dammit – Harry didn’t look cold or calculating at all; he looked like a girl who’d been told she was beautiful for the first time, or like Eleanor had when Louis had told her he liked her script. He looked flattered, and he was blushing a little, and Louis was so endeared he wanted to hit himself over the head with his camera.

“Fine, I’m jealous. Happy now?” he said gruffly, refusing to look Harry in the eye.

“Extremely.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you,” Louis said.

Harry laughed again, hand landing rather deliberately on Louis’ thigh. “I’d never dream of having you put out that easy, darling. Seduction is an _art_ , and I wouldn’t have you cheapening it by giving in right away.”

“You’re so full of crap.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Harry responded cheerily. “So, anyway, what’s the name of the guy Eleanor’s swooning over?”

“You know his name,” Louis sighed. “Aiden.”

“And what way does he swing? Surely you’ve found out by now.”

“He’s…flexible.”

“Ooh, you’ve slept with him. Now _I’m_ jealous.”

“Of who?”

“Both of you, of course,” Harry winked. “I wonder if he’ll be easier to win over than you are.”

“I guess so. Give it a try.”

*

It took Harry a week. He hung around the set incessantly, barely sparing a glance in Louis’ direction, and then – exactly seven days later – when Louis asked where Aiden was, Eleanor just gave him a pitying look and whispered, “I tried to get him out of there, I did, but I _heard things_.”

Louis shook his head and tried to get on with filming a few different shots, but he was distracted and snappy and when Aiden hadn’t turned up after half an hour, he decided to call it a day and let everyone go home. He left a note on the hood of Harry’s car: ‘You win. Get it over with quicker next time.’

The bright side was that Harry stopped ignoring him on set afterwards. The darker side was that he _wouldn’t stop gloating_.

“Honestly, he was so loud I thought someone was going to come in and find us, and that certainly would have been a way to end my career with a _bang_.” He paused to chuckle over his obscenely terrible pun. “Anyway – he hasn’t spoken to me since, but maybe that’s because he knows that you know. You should probably put his mind at ease; tell him there are no hard feelings. Well, I guess there are _some_ hard feelings, but only the good kind.”

If Louis were to roll his eyes any harder, they would detach from their sockets and roll onto the floor.

“You’re awfully quiet today, Louis,” Harry commented.

“You are such an insufferable _arse_ ,” Louis said. “Why are you never at your own studio? You have a _job_.”

“I get a couple of weeks off every once in a while,” Harry smiled, rather genially for someone who’d just been insulted. “It helps to keep me well rested between each shoot.”

Louis saw through the lie immediately. “They haven’t got another part for you yet?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Oh, it’s entirely what you said,” Louis replied. “Why don’t they have work for you? You’re the most promising star they’ve had in years.”

“Not telling you,” Harry mumbled, every bit the insolent child.

“That’s okay,” Louis said cheerily. “I have sources.”

*

Harry had been turning down scripts. Louis had to triple check, the news was so unbelievable, but it was undoubtedly true; Harry was turning down work. And Louis had never been good at keeping things to himself.

“Why are you turning down movies?” he asked, as soon as Harry opened the door.

“The scripts don’t excite me,” Harry answered instantly, a rehearsed lie if Louis had ever seen one. Harry was normally a better liar, and Louis had never seen him so flustered. It was as adorable as it was amusing.

“Oh my god. You’re so cute,” Louis said helplessly, and then he pushed Harry back into his own house and kissed him.

“I didn’t do it for you!” Harry protested, as soon as they broke apart.

Louis made cooing noises and pecked Harry on the cheek. “You totally did it for me, your ears have gone all red. Where’s your bedroom? I want to suck you off.”

“Are you admitting defeat?” Harry said, as cockily as someone blushing bright red might be capable of.

“Oh, babe. You turned down a Waldorf film for me.”

“Fine. Fine, I want to be in your movies. Now _direct me_ to the bedroom.”

“That pun was enough for me to never find you remotely sexy again,” Louis giggled. “It’s your house, I have no idea where your bedroom is. How on earth would I direct you there? It’s just flawed logic, that’s what it is.”

“Direct me _in_ the bedroom?”

“Now there’s a concept I can get behind.”

Louis had to consciously tell himself not to worry about one of Harry’s staff hearing them. They’d probably heard all sorts before, and Harry hadn’t been outed to the world yet, so he was probably safe. But all the same, Louis knew the destructive power of gossip, and he usually knew how to avoid it at all costs. Harry was making him careless.

When they got into Harry’s room, which was as large and tastelessly decadent as his sitting room, Harry was the one who got down on his knees, lunging for Louis’ belt like he’d never heard of foreplay.

“Hey, darling, no offense, but I like to be seduced a bit more before I let someone into my pants,” Louis said.

“But I’ve been seducing you for _weeks_ ,” Harry complained, staring plaintively at Louis’ crotch like it had personally offended him.

“I’m not asking much,” Louis smiled flopping down onto the ridiculously massive four-poster bed. “Kissing’s nice. Maybe touching your hair – it looks soft. Taking off articles of clothing one by one, that would be good.”

Harry looked remarkably puzzled for someone with such a vast experience with sex. “But…why?” he asked.

“What d’you mean, why? It just makes it more, I don’t know, intimate. It’s nice, I swear.”

“You’re weird,” Harry said, clambering on top of him. “Who enjoys kissing more than getting off?” He did kiss him, though, slow and deep, with enough of a bite that Louis arched up into it, hands flying to cling to Harry’s shoulders.

“I’m just saying I enjoy both,” Louis mumbled into Harry’s lips, sucking the bottom one into his mouth and nibbling on it playfully until Harry had to turn his face away, giggling into his forearm. He offset it by grinding down into Louis’ lap, though, thighs clenching delectably. Where he was uncomfortable with the more innocent aspects of this, he was certainly well versed in the art of getting another man hard.

He was a quick learner, too, and quickly worked out that Louis liked the feel of teeth over his skin, that he liked his kisses alternating between sweet pecks and filthy, deep ones, Harry’s tongue fucking into his mouth in a dirty rhythm. And all the while, Harry writhed on his lap, movement unceasing and single-minded determination leading to a swift removal of clothes, skin touching skin. “I’ve wanted to see you naked since the first time I saw you in that suit,” Harry commented, “at your premiere. God, you looked so – expensive, and I wanted you to let me go down on you _so much_ …”

Louis dragged Harry down, tasting the skin of his neck and collarbone, sucking light violet bruises across the light expanse. “So you’re attracted to my money, not me, is that it?”

“Of course.” The cocky smirk was back, almost ironically splashed across Harry’s still flushed face. He stood up to wrestle himself out of his trousers, letting them pool on the expensive rug with the rest of their clothes – a disarray of evidence. “What’s the point of this if you don’t end up buying me nice things?”

“Have you seen my arse?”

“Good point,” Harry said, and then manhandled Louis onto his front, pressing his hands to each of Louis’ cheeks. “It is lovely. Really, I could just stare at it all day.”

“You fucker, get on with it,” Louis moaned into the bed sheets, feeling exposed in the best possible way with Harry’s big hands spreading him open, leaving burning imprints on his skin.

“Get on with what?” Harry sounded deceptively innocent. His fingers were digging into Louis’ flesh, maddening and distracting, but Louis managed to find the sense of mind to turn back around, dragging Harry back down to simply grind up against him, gaining some much-needed friction.

“You’re such a little shit,” he said, scratching down Harry’s back to punctuate his point.

Harry’s hiss was a mixture of pain and pleasure, pushing back against Louis’ nails and rocking against his thigh. “Are you gonna fuck me?” he asked. “Or fuck my mouth, I’m not really fussed either way.” His voice was strained enough that Louis felt undeniably smug, nipping playfully at Harry’s ear while pretending to consider his answer.

“I think I would like to fuck you into this expensive satin sheets of yours, and get you all messy with come, and then I’d like to jerk you off again until it hurts. Sound alright?”

Harry blinked several times without speaking. Then he made a strangled noise, letting out a soft, “Please.”

“Okay, love, have you got anything I can use to, y’know, prepare you?”

Harry nodded, and got up to fish a pot of hair gel from his bedside drawer. Louis raised an eyebrow. “Well, what do you normally use?” Harry asked defensively.

“Fair enough. S’long as it’s not going up my arse, I guess,” Louis said.

“How do you want me?”

“Hands and knees, babe, is that okay?”

Harry nodded. “You don’t have to ask me all the time if you can do stuff, you know. You can just do it.”

“I like knowing you’re okay,” Louis said.

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

“That’s not the point. I like being sure. Now stop stalling and get on your hands and knees so I can finger you ‘til you cry.”

“That’s more like it,” Harry laughed.

Louis didn’t know what to say in reply. He’d always been the kind of person to constantly ask how his partner was doing during sex, make sure they were okay. It was hard to understand Harry’s reluctance to let him do that, but he pushed the thought out of his mind as his ran his hands over Harry’s arched back, still bearing the raised red marks of Louis’ nails. He dipped his index finger into the gel, wincing a little at the sliminess of it, and traced around the cleft of Harry’s arse, trying to warm the gel up.

“Get on with it,” Harry gritted out.

Louis slapped him playfully – not hard – on his bum, and Harry collapsed onto his elbows, choked moan forcing its way out of his clenched teeth.

“Oh, _that’s_ interesting,” Louis smirked. “Maybe another time, love.”

Harry didn’t even reply, his mouth latched to the skin of his upper arm, eyes squeezed shut. Louis decided to stop teasing, pushing his index finger past the first ring of muscle and letting Harry grow accustomed to the sensation.

Harry started chanting into his arm, something that sounded like, “More, more, more.”

“Okay, darling,” Louis smiled, starting to flex his finger, opening Harry up. After another minute, he added a second finger, pumping them in and out until Harry cried out, and he knew he’d hit his sweet spot. “There you go.”

“Do you never stop _talking_?” Harry said, trying his best to grind back onto Louis’ fingers. “Can you just shut up and – fuck – ”

“What was that? It sounded so much like an invitation to keep speaking.” He pulled his fingers out, coating a third in more of the gel. “Love you when you look like this. Love how you look all the time, if I’m honest. Always look like you want to be on your knees for someone, begging. Even when you’re pretending to be in control, everyone can see this is what you really want. Are you ready for a third, love?”

“‘m ready for your dick,” Harry said, sulkily.

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’re not gonna be greedy. Can you do that for me?”

Harry sighed and nodded. Louis rewarded him with the third finger, almost immediately finding his prostate and stroking it, reducing Harry to a quivering mess. He thought that if he’d known Harry would look like this, he would have never been able to resist. He was so beautiful, head bowed and curls spilling everywhere, thighs quivering and biceps bulging with the effort of keeping himself held up. Louis only managed to hold out another couple of minutes before he took his dick in hand, slicking himself up and lining himself up with Harry’s hole. “Ready?” he asked softly, reaching out to cover Harry’s hand with his own.

“Yeah, just do it, c’mon,” Harry muttered, trying and failing to push himself back onto Louis’ dick.

“Bit eager, babe,” Louis snickered. He did finally give in to Harry’s demands, though, thrusting forward inch by inch until he was fully inside Harry. He waited a few seconds for Harry’s breathing to grow less laboured, for his hands to unclench from the sheets. “Tell me when to move.”

“Move,” Harry responded instantaneously.

“Calm down there,” Louis said, but he drew out a little to thrust back in, rocking gently enough to not hurt Harry, just give him the friction he wanted. And the friction was _delicious_ , with Harry’s walls so tight on Louis’ dick that he felt like his whole world was condensed to simply this, right here, right now. He barely had the presence of mind to think about anything other than how Harry looked, felt, smelled, sounded. He felt consumed, body and soul. Never had sex felt so much like a spiritual experience. “Good boy.”

It had only slipped out, practically an accident, but Harry’s answering whine was so pretty that Louis could only repeat, helplessly, “So good for me, so lovely,” while Harry shuddered and made little noises, body desperately twisting to try to get Louis to move faster.

Eventually he did, snapping hips and claiming Harry, touching everywhere he could and making the bed shudder ever so slightly with the force of his movements. Harry was quickly approaching volumes that the whole house could hear, but Louis couldn’t find it in him to care, not when he was so obviously loving it, clenching around Louis and twisting his hands in the expensive sheets. There was sweat collecting in a pool at the dip of his spine.

Harry came first, cock slapping up against his stomach and staining it white, but Louis followed soon after, pulling out just in time to spill his load all over the soft pink of Harry’s arse.

“That’s disgusting,” Harry commented, lazily, sinking into the sheets.

“Better than it dripping out of your bum,” Louis smiled fondly, rubbing over the drying substance.

Harry rolled over onto his back, hauling Louis down for a kiss. “Next time I wanna taste it,” he said.

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?”

“You told me I was the ‘ _prettiest boy in the world_ ’,” Harry reminded him, somewhat dreamily. “And no one can resist me. And I’m gonna be in your films.”

“That you are,” Louis agreed, smearing a finger through the load of come on Harry’s stomach. “Can you come again, babe? Or do you want to sleep?”

“I can come again in, like, ten minutes,” Harry said, eyelids drooping. Louis could only smile fondly, hopelessly endeared by this man who couldn’t stay awake for five minutes after sex.

“Do you want me to stay while you nap, or…?”

In response, Harry shifted his head to Louis’ chest, lying them both down. “Just need a pillow,” Harry mumbled, as if he couldn’t see the inordinate number of pillows stacked at the top of the bed. Still, Louis was prepared to humour him. He thought he might be prepared to do a lot of things for this boy.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, please let me know what you thought, either here or on my tumblr (oopshidaisy)  
> thank you for reading! xx


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